


Your love is my target

by Rajiformes



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Complicated Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Implied Sexual Content, Killing, Kissing, Love, M/M, Orphans, Partners in Crime, Romance, Secret Identity, Secrets, Serial Killers, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:59:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rajiformes/pseuds/Rajiformes
Summary: A young hitman has to kill two rich Londoners. Their only son, however, survives but is injured and the hitman decides to take him to his home. He won't remember what happened and the other will lie to him. They will begin to know each other, and more.
Relationships: George "The Jackal" Zimmerman/Mark Blues, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 3





	Your love is my target

**Author's Note:**

> George "The Jackal" Zimmerman and Mark Blues are my OCs. If you want to write a story about them, give credit (I may also read it)! The context where this story is set is completely invented and it doesn't happen during any particular historical period. Only the places are real. Free interpretation.

"The Blues? Those with the huge mansion not far from the Thames? Sounds tempting."  
"We need a quick intervention, as soon as possible. Those two bastards have decided to buy so many companies that they have a serious control on the local economy. I know I can count on you Jackal, you are the best."  
"You're flattering me, boss. Are you trying to avoid paying me?"  
"Eheh, you're glorious. Anyway. Are you going to accept?"  
"Of course, it will be an honor. Tell me everything, you will see the news on every newspaper in the next month."

The hitman walked leisurely in central London, with a gun in his elegant black velvet jacket. The early afternoon air was fresh, almost shivering on the skin. The people around him laughed, talked, argued, he looked at their faces, they made eye contact with him for a few seconds and everyone probably forgot about him a few seconds after. But George didn't. George Zimmerman, a nearly twenty-year-old orphan, doesn't forget anyone's face. It is his job, after all. Looking at the details, working perfectly. Nothing had distracted him, ever.  
He smoothed his dark hair frantically with his hand, whistling, without anxiety or haste. Three weeks had passed since the killing request, and he had inquired about the Blues. They had no guards, no security technology or anything. It will probably be one of his simplest assignments.  
The only problem was that in addition to the two targets there was another person in the house. Their son. Unlike them, however, the Jackal did not seem like his parents. Less spoiled, humble enough. He didn't have a request to kill him, but if he had been home at the moment he would have had no choice, sadly.  
"Look where you go! Prick." A blatantly drunk man threw himself abruptly on him and George elegantly moved. The hitman glared at him and turning he noticed a big weeping willow. He was close.

"What does second mean!? You arrived second in the violin competition!? With all the courses we paid you... you are a disappointment, Mark."  
Mr Blues was at the head of the table to detach grapes from the stems violently crushing them and splashing water and little seeds all over the now empty plate.  
"Dear, don't treat him like that, I bet it won't happen again, right Mark?"  
His mother stared at him hopefully, her fork sticking a piece of chicken between her thin fingers and the flashy enamel almost brighter than the cutlery, her other hand on her husband's arm to stop him in vain, without applying any force.  
 _Mark, Mark, Mark!_  
The boy was with his head down, staring at his tie with the plate still full, the shiny cutlery and the empty glass.  
He suddenly stood up without looking at his parents, heading towards the stairs on the second floor. "I need to go to-"  
"You won't go anywhere!" His father grabbed his arm, making him fall.  
"I! Said! Leave me!" And the boy after tugging his arm out of his father's grasp run up the stairs.  
"Dear! Stop! Let him think." And the mother stopped him.

Well, that was awkward. Staying in an enormous bush to spy a man and a woman talking about something around a table.  
"Are they arguing?" The hitman looked in his binoculars, nobody else was in the room. "Tsk yeah, they are arguing. Shitty lovey-dovey fake relantionship between even faker rich people." He pulled out and laid his briefcase with everything he needed on the ground, pulling the gun out of his pocket. By now it was almost mechanical: Put the silencer on the gun, put on the gloves, check the ammo and put the mask... a few minutes and it would all be over again. Now he would usually hack their PCs to check if they had information that would come in handy, but they had none. Less time wasted then. "But aren't there butlers or shit like that? What the fuck are they using all that money for?" He sighs. "Not my business. Time to go." He opened the map of the house on his tablet and slipped into a small window in a small back room, probably unused. "Ugh, I hate the dust. It ruins my gloves." He exhaled looking at all the furniture covered by large white blankets in the room, without approaching. Crossing a few corridors, he heard muttering. "They should be behind this door." He gripped the gun and put his finger on the trigger. He leaned the back of his arm against the door and opened it slowly, realizing that it didn't creak. The table was to his right, with the woman with his back to him and the man in profile, gesticulating awkwardly about disappointment or something similar. "Mister first, so the miss gets up and it's easier to aim." He looks at Mr Blues and raises his gun. The father's head is in the right direction of the barrel. "Fast, clean, painless. The miss doesn't have to scream even though we are in an isolated area and no one is home."  
 _...Bang. Bang._ Almost inaudible because of the silencer.

"Grrr piece of shit! I hate you, I hate you!" Mark circled tearing around his room nervously, occasionally glancing at their immense garden which, seen from above, he had to admit was a panorama. The folder with the scores thrown on the bed, the heavy books scattered on the desk with a few pens on the floor, probably rolled out of the case. He crouched with his hands in his blond hair, still looking at his tie. He began to sob, tears falling on the Persian carpet. "I just want to live like a normal person! Having friends, playing video games, having fun on Saturday nights and not just having to study, study and study!" He remembers that his parents had been strict from an early age. He couldn't get dirty in the mud in elementary school, take public transport to make friends with others in middle school, he was not allowed to invite friends over or to go to someone else's house. "I have to let off steam, I have to break something, I have to scream, I can't take it anymore! _Sob._ I-... I-!"

"I was asked not to get rid of the bodies and to leave them there to make more stir. Better this way, technically I can leave already. It was almost borin-" "AHHHHHH YOU ASSHOLES!" George nearly fainted. Who was in the house!? Who was he yelling at!? It was his obligation to check even if it was avoidable. _"Kill everyone in the house so as not to leave too obvious suspicions. People need to know."_ , the boss said. He slowly climbed the stairs, and hid himself behind a huge, very dark wooden cabinet near the only closed door on the upper floor, from which he actually heard some slight thuds and something moving. "But is he crawling on the floor? If he hadn't screamed I would have thought of an animal. Should I-" The door opens. Someone exhales loudly. The hitman remains motionless, the figure passes by him without noticing him, but instead of relaxing the hitman enters into complete anxiety as he was approaching the stairs. He got up abruptly beating against the cabinet with the gun which broke the silencer (not that he cares so much since that person would be dead in a few seconds), and the other whirled around, revealing that he was the Blues' son. "Who the fuck are-" He pulled the trigger but the boy panicked and making a brusque movement the shot ended up piercing his shoulder and knocking him down the stairs. "Fuck!" The hitman ran down the stairs, with the boy lying down there on the floor with his nose and shoulder bleeding. Uncertain, George approached slowly and seeing no reaction he grabbed his wrist. "He is alive," he stated neutral, rubbing his thumb over the still pulsing veins. "then I have to-" but he did not have time to hold the gun correctly that he heard noises from outside: voices and footsteps. "Oh, perfect." The hitman took all his tools, lifted the carpet at the foot of the stairs where the boy's blood had spilled and -why not- the boy with him. He couldn't shoot him as the silencer was out of order. "Ugh. Time to go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the start! If so please let me know with kudos and comments, they would please me and give me the energy to continue! Constructive criticism is welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Giving kudos and comments makes me keep going!  
> You can contact me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/Rajiformes/?hl=it) or [Tumblr](https://raji4mes.tumblr.com/).


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